Why Me?
by montez
Summary: After the events in a Study in Pink John and Sherlock find themselves back at 221b and the 'drugs bust' comes up sending the conversation into a tailspin as Sherlock tries to regain control and John tries to understand.


Why Me?  
By: Montez

Disclaimer: Sherlock and John belong to BBC, God I love British Television

 _A/N: Okay my second attempt at a Sherlock story. For some reason this popped into my head, I absolutely love the first episode of Sherlock and have watched it numerous times. This story just came from that, not really related to, but does include references to the episode. I'm sure Sherlock will seem OC in this story, but his behavior a couple of times in the episode was chaotic so I went with that in how he might come to terms with the fact someone cares about him outside of what he can do for them, just my thought. Anyway I hope you enjoy-Montez_

"So?" John's voice was nearly a whisper in the quiet of the flat he was getting ready to move into the next day. It had been an eventful night or very early morning depending on how you looked at it. It had started with the meeting of his potential flat-mate and ended with John killing a man to save said flat-mate. The former Army Doctor couldn't believe that just the day before he had sat in his therapist's office and when she asked about his blog he told her 'nothing happens to me'.

"Hum" Sherlock replied tuning the strings of his violin. Watson watched the younger man wondering if he really could play or if his hands just needed something to do to keep up with how quickly his mind seemed to work.

"Drugs bust?" It had totally thrown John for a loop when they had returned from chasing a cab through London streets over rooftops and back alleys to find Detective Inspector Lastrade sitting in the flat while several officers were going through everything. When the older officer said drugs bust in response to Holmes's demand to know why they were there, it had actually dumbfounded John, really? A drugs bust on a guy that appeared to be the most brilliant individual the former soldier had ever met, surely not. But that look Sherlock had gave him when he told him to stop talking…how could someone so brilliant possibly be so stupid?

Sherlock's blue-grey eyes glanced up and met John's. The doctor felt he was being 'read' again as the young man silently stared. "I am clean…that wasn't a lie." Sherlock said, watching the older man's expression.

"How long?" John kept his face as neutral as possible, he wanted so much to believe the man before him. The man who in just a few hours gave a broken man a purpose again, gave him a reason to look forward to the next day, not just dreading existing.

"Four and a half years" Sherlock stood, walking toward the window.

"Are there drugs in the flat?" If he could understand the why maybe, just maybe he could reconcile himself to this aspect of the young man, but trust was a necessity for a flat-mate, could he trust Sherlock Holmes, self-proclaimed Sociopathic Consulting Detective?

Sherlock stared out the window, he liked the man he'd met at St. Bart's, there was something about him that intrigued him but he didn't know what and that alone could drive him mad. Something about the former Army Doctor caused Sherlock to desperately want his approval, but why? Sherlock Holmes had led most of his adult life without concern of anyone's approval and he was perfectly happy with that until a man with a military haircut and a psychosomatic limp walked into his lab. It had been John Watson's reaction about the dead woman's feeling for a lost child so many years ago that for the first time in his life caused Sherlock to pause in his thought process and realize he'd said something that left a look of disapproval on the older man's face.

"Yes" John was a bit shocked with the direct answer confirming there were illegal drugs somewhere in the flat, but obviously hidden well enough that several supposedly trained officers were unable to find them.

"Why?" John continued this quiet back and forth.

"Honestly?" Sherlock finally glanced at the older man, expecting to see disappointment, but instead saw curiosity and the need to understand.

"That would be nice." At this rate this conversation could go on all night Watson thought.

"I'm not really sure anymore…" Sherlock moved back to his chair, rubbing a cloth along his bow, "Would you feel better if I removed them?"

"I would worry less the next time there was a staged 'drugs bust' especially with me living here now." John wasn't exactly sure where his standing was with the Detective Inspector he'd only spoken to for a short time tonight, but he didn't want to start off a the wrong foot if accompanying Sherlock to crime scenes became the norm.

A slight nod was all John received in response and considering the man across from him he really didn't know if it was confirmation the drugs would be removed from the flat to if the younger man was just humoring him.

"Detective Inspector Lastrade said he's known you for five years, you said you've been clean for four and a half…" John allowed the comment to trail off knowing the younger man would know what he was asking.

"Lastrade found me the last time I overdosed, I would be dead if he hadn't broken into the flat I occupied at the time." Sherlock made it sound like he was bored bring up a past experience.

John just looked at the man across from him, his mind again screaming how someone who was obviously so brilliant could be so incredibly stupid by injecting himself with something that could so easily kill him. Then a though occurred to him, Sherlock had said the 'last time' he'd overdosed, that meant… "How many times had you overdosed previously?" the doctor in him was just trying to wrap his mind around this. He had seen overdoses, far too many.

"That had been my fourth, Mycroft had found me the three previous times before my heart had stopped, but he had been unable to locate me and set Lastrade out looking for me. Someone on the street recognized me and pointed the Detective Inspector to where I was staying, when he got in they estimated my heart hadn't been beating for about four to seven minutes…the doctor's said it was a miracle he'd been able to revive me at all, though I don't subscribe to miracles myself." Sherlock again rose from his chair, gently placing the violin in his place and walked toward the kitchen, "Tea?"

Four to seven minutes with no heartbeat, after five terrible things could begin happening to a normal person's body, their brain. The fact Sherlock Holmes was even still able to function was a miracle, the fact he has survived four overdoses…that was nearly unheard of. Taking a deep breath John turned and watched the consulting detective effortlessly move about the kitchen, assembling the needed items to make two cups of tea. He barely heard Sherlock's quiet voice answer his unspoken question, "…and yes, it was after that I entered rehab, of course being handcuffed to a hospital bed in a psychiatric hospital for two weeks really doesn't give a person much choice, my brother can be bit of a real pain when he wants to be."

"You were in a psychiatric hospital for two weeks?" John was intrigued again, was the man before really the psychopath Sargent Donovan warned him about or a sociopath the younger man called himself or just a brilliant, yet self-destructive young man who danced with death just to prove he was the smartest person in the room like he'd assumed from the nights events.

"My brother's way of making a point…he threatened to have me declared mentally unstable and even drew up the necessary paperwork to have me involuntarily committed with a feeding tube shoved down my throat if I didn't get myself clean. It always annoyed him he wasn't able to control me like everyone else in his sphere, but after that last time I decided death was far too boring to experience again anytime soon, so…" Sherlock had walked back into the room, handing a cup of tea to the ex-soldier.

"How did you come to work with the Detective Inspector?" John sipped from the offered cup, surprisingly (but not) it was prepared exactly how he liked.

"Before that night I had showed up at a couple perplexing crime scenes, naturally they pulled me in for questioning seeing as the details I would keep throwing at them, really their lack of observation skills…it's a wonder any crimes get solved." Sherlock took a drink from his own cup. "Lastrade was the only one who listened to what I was trying to say instead of trying to figure out how to convict me on the spot…so after a month of my forced hospitalization my brother allowed him to visit with a few files…I was able to piece together enough evidence just from the shoddy evidence collections his incompetent techs had gathered and Lastrade said if I got my act together he'd call me in when needed, so I became the first and only consulting detective…now you know." John watched the younger man, assuming by the guarded expression on his face that all this talking about himself was not something the man did, and he had not been comfortable doing it.

Sitting his cup down John leaned forward, "I'm honestly surprised." To many people tended to underestimate John, he'd seen it in medical school and the army. They thought the shorter than average, quiet, unassuming man he presented meant he was slower than normal, incapable to living up to most people's expectations, so when he did meet and exceed what was expected those people never underestimated him again. He had seen the look in Sherlock's face as the younger man stood from the back of the ambulance after the shooting, he honestly didn't realize John was anywhere nearby until their eye's meet and Watson saw realization overcome the younger man's angular face. It was at that moment John saw an expression he had seen many times and he couldn't help the almost smug smile that pulled as his lips, another person had underestimated him and he had showed them exactly what he was capable of given the right motivation. It was then he felt the playing field level just slightly between himself and the hypnotic man he's been introduced to, a mutual feeling of respect was formed in that glance and had led them back here, to 221b Baker Street, where this wild ride had started.

"Surprised?" Sherlock honestly looked 'surprised' himself.

"You don't seem the type to bother explaining yourself or your actions to anyone, yet here you are, explaining all this to me when you could have just brushed me off…so what surprises me is why me? Why explain any of this to me? I've known you less than forty-eight hours. Yes it has been the most insane forty-eight hours I've seen since leaving the Army, but why would someone like me, a crippled, washed-up, ex-army doctor deserve an explanation when I would wager to guess you wouldn't be the slightest bit concerned about what anyone else could possible think of you."

Watson watched Holmes shift, almost uncomfortably before standing again, an almost frantic pacing overtook the younger man as he moved between the window, kitchen door and back, his hands clenching and unclenching before scrubbing roughly through his hair. John gave pause a moment thinking maybe he had pushed the younger man somehow, he'd noticed the near manic behavior a couple times already. An uncontrollable frustration when he wasn't being understood by those around him. John stood in an attempt to calm the younger man, his pace increasing, his eyes darting around before he abruptly stopped and stared at Watson, John was slightly on guard, he really didn't know what to expect from the erratic behavior but wanted to be prepared for anything.

Sherlock's mind was sent into a spin, not a feeling he dealt with often and not one he could easily rebound from without a reason. Yes he had just explained more to this man than he had ever explained to anyone and he really didn't know why. He never explained himself, he was who he was and that was either accepted or not accepted by those around him and he could normally care less…but this man was different, but why? Why was he different? What made this ordinary, unassuming man so different from anyone Sherlock had ever met that he felt the need to explain this aspect of his life? So many people had come through his life pretending to be something they never turned out to be…a friend, so Sherlock had resigned himself to the fact he didn't need 'friends' like normal people, he tolerated people and they tolerated him for the most part. He never needed nor cared to explain himself to anyone until now, but why? His mind could not come up with a reasonable explanation and it was that one question 'why me?' expressed to him with such a look of sincerity that had finally pushed his mind into a tailspin. He knew on some level his behavior was bordering on frantic, his body was trying desperately to keep up with his mind, the room was almost smothering him, 'why me?' playing over and over as he tried to grasp a reason. It took him a moment to realize the Doctor had stood and taken a step toward him, in that moment he stopped, his hand raising, "No…don't" his voice was harsh, his only way of having a semblance of control when there wasn't any.

"No…don't" John froze when Sherlock's hand come up, his own hands going out in an unthreatening manner. Mentally he ran through the what he could recall when dealing with someone of the verge of a manic episode, he'd helped calm his fair share of people trying to deal with something their minds just couldn't wrap around, especially in a warzone. But this was somehow different, the young man had been unusually calm and with it throughout the night's events, even the shooting of someone right in front of him, so was that finally catching up with him. Had John's actions earlier that had saved the younger man inadvertently led to this episode?

"Hey, it's okay…just take a minute." John's calm voice for some continued unknown reason did bring a calm over Sherlock like he had never experienced…it almost frightened him, if Sherlock subscribed to fear. In that moment his vision pinpointed, his mind went out of focus, he felt himself wrap his arms over his head and kneel down, his legs felt strange and it took all his focus to not slip completely to the floor, he needed to regain some control. "Woah…hey, hey…take a deep breath…Sherlock can you hear me? Hey look at me?" Sherlock tried to not flinch at the touch on his shoulder, he was trying to focus himself, ground himself back in his mind to try and reason with how he was reacting to the given situation, which he honestly couldn't figure how he'd lost control of. When turning inward wouldn't give him the focus he needed he allowed it to be drawn to the firm, but gently hand that was gripping his upper arm. That hand seemed to ground him like nothing ever had before…he took in the low, but urgent voice that had moved closer to him, filtering in past all the noise his mind was producing, that voice, like the grip on his arm focused his frantic mind, he closed everything out but that and slowly found his control starting to return.

"Woah…hey, hey…take a deep breath…Sherlock can you hear me? Hey look at me?" John moved forward quickly when the younger man before him dropped to his haunches, his arms wrapped tightly over his head, hand's clutching his hair. He felt the slight flinch when his hand made contact with Sherlock's arm, but his instinct was to keep the man upright, try to get through to him before his erratic breathing caused him to pass out. It was in that moment a terrible though occurred, had the cabbie done something to the man before him that may have taken time to show up, had he hurt him physically somehow? He couldn't imagine that happening, but anything was possible, especially since they had been dealing with a serial killer. But it had been hours, surely if it was related it would have appeared before now. "Sherlock tell me what's wrong…" John kept his voice calm and reassuring all the while debating on calling an ambulance, "Listen to me…you need to breathe…I need you to focus and breathe for me…" In the instant those words left his mouth he could feel the man under his hand relax, the tightly coiled muscles seemed to release all at once and Sherlock's balance faltered. Moving quickly John got his knee behind the unresponsive man and eased him back onto the floor, Holmes's arms automatically going to wrap around his knees, a slight rocking overtaking his body as he seemed to fight for control of his movements. Watson's hand never left his arm, somehow feeling that contact might be helping ground the younger man.

Sherlock felt his body settle onto the floor, his arms automatically going round his knees keeping him upright, he felt nearly boneless as he could feel John's knee against his back, the older man's hand still firmly holding his arm. That touch, that firm supportive grip pulled his focus back to the dim lighting that filled the flat, the faint smell of the tea he'd brewed a while ago filled his senses, as did the subtle smell of generic shampoo that he would learn to associate with the doctor beside him. Several more minutes passed before Sherlock felt in control enough to raise his gaze to meet that of the very worried man beside him.

When gray-blue eye's finally met his John let a small sigh of relief, but a knot of worry still rested in the pit of his stomach as Sherlock had yet to speak, "Hey…you with me?" His voice barely a whisper as he slide his hand up onto Sherlock's shoulder.

"Sorry…" Sherlock's voice broke the uneasy silence, blinking as he tried to dispel the worried look from his new flat-mates eyes. God he hope after all this John was still willing to move in, a part of him honestly didn't think he could properly function if this episode scared the man off. "That hasn't…"

"It's okay, just take it easy, a few more deep breathes would be good." John finally brought his other hand up and took ahold of a pale wrist that was still wrapped around the seated man's knees, a bit fast but he was sure it was a far cry better than it had been just moment before. "Can you tell me what happened? Are you hurt?" that calm caring voice caused Sherlock to break eye contact and lower his head back to his arms, his body suddenly so very tired.

"Fine…" Sherlock said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

A soft chuckle escaped Watson as he finally gave in to his screaming knee joints and sat down next to his new flat-mate, his hand never leaving the man's shoulder, "I don't think fine is the word I would use…look at me…what was that?"

Turning his head seemed like a monumental effort, but he did. "Why are you concerned?" Sherlock asked softly.

To John the voice that had just asked such a bizarre question almost sound child-like. Like it really didn't fully understand how someone could truly be concerned for it? Watson gave his head a slight shake, "I don't understand?" Sherlock Holmes was appearing to be a brilliant puzzle, wrapped in a chaotic mind that worked faster than any super computer around, blanketed in what could possibly be an incredible fragile psyche. Could this amazing young man really find it difficult that someone could be concerned about him?

"Why you?" Sherlock loosened his grip on his legs and slide the few feet back to the wall, his head resting against it as his gaze stayed fixed on the doctor. "Why are you affecting me to this degree?"

John moved to lean against the sofa, still not understanding, maybe him being here was not a good thing, maybe this idea of flat-sharing wouldn't be good for the man before him. He had thought they were working out, even though it was an extreme experience, but maybe it had only worked in the moment and would not be conducive to a long-term, flat-share partnership. Taking a deep breathe the Doctor looked at his now clinched hands, a slight tremor shook his left hand, "Should I leave?"

That frantic look overtook Sherlock's expression again, his body propelling him forward, his arms reaching out to grasp John's so quick the older man had no time to react, "NO…don't, you can't leave, I won't let you!" If Sherlock was a normal, rational human being he would have heard how the words he had spoken and how he had spoken them would cause a normal, rational person to react with fear and panic. John was a normal and rational person, but he was also someone who could read a level of desperation in a person's tone and posture and that is what was radiating off the young man across from him in waves so intense they almost take his breath. The word's finally registered in Sherlock's mind, the intensity, his grip on the doctor's arms…he released the older man as if he had been burned, his mind reeling again, 'WRONG!' his mind screamed at him as he clinched his eyes shut again, panic trying to reestablish a hold on him.

He fully expected the pounding of feet as any rational person would have seen this as an opportunity to run away as quickly as possible. Sherlock was shocked when he felt hands gently encircle his wrists, a calm voice filtering again through the sea of panic he'd fell into. "Okay, I won't go…but please, you have to tell me what's going on in that mind of yours…I need to understand what is happening."

"I don't know." Sherlock said, his voice sounded almost broken, so different from the indifferent, arrogant tone John had heard most of the evening.

"You don't know? Okay, can you tell me what started this, are you hurt?" John realized he had asked that question numerous times in the last several minutes, but had yet to receive a definite answer.

Sherlock decided for his mind to finally start to compute what was happening it was best for him to slow his processes down. That had worked earlier when John had asked about the drugs, but that had also led to what had caused his mind to spiral uncontrollably, but the look on Watson's face told him he needed to answer as coherently and clearly as he could, so slowly is what he would try. "No, I'm not hurt."

"Okay…do you have any conditions I should know about?" The logical, doctor side was taking over, he needed to analyze and try to figure out if some underlying condition had contributed to the manic episode he had just witnessed.

Sherlock couldn't help to chuckle at that, "Sociopath…"

"Bull-shit…" John responded with a slight smile, a break in the intensity of the last, John looked at his watch, nearly an hour. Another chuckle from the curly-haired man eased away a little more of the tension. "So, seriously?"

Exhaustions seemed to pull at Sherlock as he again leaned his head back, glancing at the ceiling before returning his gaze to John. The concern and compassion reflected back at him, he was not use to seeing those expressions thrown in his direction, it was mostly contempt and disgust and that is why he was having problems reconciling these feeling those looks were creating. "I cannot understand why?"

"Why what?" John too leaned his head back against the cough, the last two days finally catching up with his tired body.

"Why do you care?" Sherlock could tell by the doctor's face he still wasn't making himself clear.

"Why do I care?" Did the man across from him really not understand human behavior? People on a basic level generally care about others. John had become a doctor because he cared about people, he had joined the Army because he cared about his country. Why wouldn't he care?

"About me?" Again it was an almost child-like tone that came for the grown man across from him.

"Why wouldn't I?" Watson responded trying to read the emotions playing in the other man's eyes.

"No one cares about me" Those words sound so sure, so convincing and yet held such a brokenness that it pulled at John's heart, did the man across from him really believe no one cared about him?

Taking a deep breath John recalled the events of the last two days before he spoke, "Your brother kidnapped me because he cares about you." Once John had realized the man from the warehouse was the younger man's brother it made a certain type of sense, especially with the theatrics both men seemed to possess.

"My brother only cares that he can't control me and that I could cause 'problems' for him…the fact you turned down his offer of money to spy on me really shook him, I could tell by the way he looked at you outside the college. No one has ever turned him down, so you have become a 'wild-card' as they say…he doesn't know how your influence might affect me. I suppose he'll increase surveillance again." Sherlock's tone almost turned bored.

"Wait, what? Surveillance?" The doctor was becoming concerned now, maybe the off-handed comments about his brother 'being the British Government' wasn't just in jest.

"You were under surveillance from the moment you left Bart's, he does like to interfere with my life." A slight shake of his head brought a disgusted, but weary smile across Holmes's face.

"Okay…forget that a minute, what about Lastrade, he seems to care, he saved your life right?" The DI had performed a miracle in reviving a four-time overdose victim whose heart had stopped for over five minutes.

"It was his job, he couldn't exactly let me die after my brother sent him looking for me and he only cares what I can do in regards to a case." Sherlock seemed so sure of himself, but John had seen the way the older man had talked with and about the young man and felt strongly that there was something deeper that Sherlock couldn't see. The older man cared a great deal for the man across from him, but it appeared Holmes's natural instinct was to push everyone away, well everyone except him it would seem.

"Okay, Mrs. Hudson…" That sweet, motherly woman obviously cared about her eccentric tenant, surely Sherlock knew the older woman cared about him.

"She's my landlady." Again that so sure tone, that sounded both hopeful and broken at the same time. It was clear in his tones that all three people that John had mentioned were cared about by the self-proclaimed sociopath across from him, whether it was admitted to or not. Sherlock Holmes did have the capacity to care and he did, even John Watson could see that, but the young man's intense personality kept people at a distance, even those he cared about.

"Okay then…what about me?" John decided to get to the point, there is no way the man across from him could have formed any type of attachment to him in the short time they had known each other. Yes John knew he, himself, felt drawn to protect the younger man for some reason, to the point of defending him again a 'drugs bust' and finally killing a man who was attempting to kill Sherlock, but that was John. He was a quick judge of people, he had to be and it had saved him more times than he wanted to think about. There was something about the young man that Watson felt the need to protect and John couldn't protect someone if he didn't care about them and no he didn't fully understand that automatic need, but he accepted it and moved on. John saw the shift in the young man's face as the question registered, that was it…John Watson, ex-Army Captain and doctor had somehow gotten past Sherlock's normal defenses and cared about the younger man more than the curly-haired man was use to and he didn't know how to deal with that revelation.

Many things passed over Sherlock's face, in his eyes as his mind whirled for an answer. "You…" another pause and a deep breath passed before he started again, "You see me." Holmes watched the older man's face, it took a moment but he saw when what he'd said registered with the doctor. "No one ever sees me, they see what I want them to see…"

John interrupted, smiling at that point, "The high-functioning sociopath?"

A clipped laugh broke between them, "Yes, exactly." Silence settled again, "You see me and I have to figure out how to work around that, you have to understand this is not something I am use to dealing with and that doesn't happen often, that I…"

"Can't figure out and control the situation?" John finished the thought.

"Exactly…see no one has ever understood that and you walk into my lab and I can read you like a book, but what I never realized is that you were able to do the exact same thing…not on my level of course, but still." Sherlock smirked as John chuckled.

"Thanks for that." John responded, a yawn slipping past his defenses, but to be fair it was nearly four in the morning.

"Are you going to stay upstairs tonight, I'm sure Mrs. Hudson has already made up the bed, though she did seem put out that you'd need the 'second bedroom'" Again Sherlock smirked, the tension finally fading from the room.

"Three, well four times if I count your comments…really why would everyone assume we are automatically a couple?" Smiling slightly, John had a feeling he was going to be responding to those types of comments a lot. A part of him could somehow understand, they were two single men running around London and getting ready to move in together and if John was serious Sherlock Holmes was a unique looking man almost androgynous if you really looked at him, he could see the appeal either way if he really thought about it, which he wasn't.

"Yes, well…so?" Sherlock pushed himself up, still leaning against the wall, a level of exhaustion pulling at him after both the physical exertion of the night and then the mental and emotional.

"Might as well, I'll catch a cab back to my place in the morning, I honestly don't have much to move in, haven't been out of rehab all that long." John responded as he eased himself up, his body stiff from the running and adrenaline that had flooded his system at various points, it really did remind him of being in a warzone, the ebb and flow of existing in that environment.

"Well, we should get some rest, tomorrow may prove eventful regardless." Sherlock smiled as John made his way to the stairs that led to the next level.

"God I hope not." John smiled tiredly, "Goodnight Sherlock."

"Goodnight John." The younger man watched the older one disappear, listening until he heard the door close before turning toward his own room, his phone vibrating in his pocket as he closed his door. Sitting wearily on the edge of the bed Sherlock pulled out the palm-sized device…

 _He'll either be good for you or make you worse-MH_

Sherlock couldn't help but smile slightly, yes John Watson had really thrown his brother with his level of loyalty in such a short time, which both worried and pleased him. It worried him because he wasn't sure how his brother might attempt to test John with regards to this newly forming relationship, and pleased him that someone could throw his brother off his game in a way only Sherlock himself was usually able to do. He smiled as he typed his response then silenced his phone, placing it on the nightstand before shedding his jacket and shoes, deciding changing would be too much effort at this point. His eye's slipped shut as a small smile graced his features, it would prove quiet interesting to have someone who could finally keep up with him, and yes he would do everything in his power to make sure Doctor John Watson stayed by his side.

 _Oh, but the fun we'll have seeing just which it is Brother-SH_

"


End file.
